The alcalde inquired if there was any one present—relative or friend—to whom he could deliver her up.
A young girl, a poblana, who had just arrived on the spot, came forward. She knew the “pobrecita.” She would take charge of her, and conduct her to her home.
A half-Indian woman was in company with the poblana. It might have been her mother. Between the two the restored captive was led away; and the crowd soon dispersed and returned to their various avocations.
The girl and her conductors turned into a narrow street that led through the suburb where the poorest people lived. Passing this, they emerged into the open country; and then, following an unfrequented path through the chapparal, a few hundred yards brought them to a small mud rancho, which they entered. In a few minutes after a carreta, in which sat a peon, was driven up to the door, and stopped there.
The poblana, leading the girl by the hand, came out of the house, and both mounted into the carreta. As soon as the two were seated upon the bunches of dry “zacato” thrown into the carreta for this purpose, the driver goaded his oxen and moved off. The vehicle, after passing out of the chapparal path, took the main road leading to the lower settlements of the valley.
As they moved on the poblana regarded her companion with kind looks, and assisted her in arranging her seat, so as to defend her as much as possible against the joltings of the carreta. She added numerous expressions of a sympathising and consolatory character, but none that bespoke recognition or old acquaintance. It was evident that the girl had never seen Rosita before.
When they had got about a mile from the town, and were moving along an unfrequented part of the road, a horseman was seen coming after, and at such speed as to overtake them in a few minutes. He was mounted on a pretty mustang that bore the signs of being well cared for. Its flanks were rounded with fat, and it capered as it galloped along.
As it came close to the carreta the rider called out to the driver to stop; and it then appeared that the horseman was a woman, as the soft sweet voice at once indicated. More than that, the rider was a señorita, as the soft cheek, the silky hair, and the delicate features, showed. At a distance it was natural enough to have taken her for one of the opposite sex. A common serapé covered her shoulders; a broad-brimmed sombrero concealed most of her black shining hair; and she rode according to the general custom of the country—the custom of its men.
“Why, Señorita!—is it you?” asked the poblana, in a tone of surprise, and with a gesture of respect.
“Ha! ha! you did not know me, then, Josefa?”